Chain of Events
by percychased
Summary: In which a conversation about a cat is overheard and Witch Weekly takes it the wrong way. Is Draco Malfoy trying too hard to prove them wrong?


_I'm just too much a coward to admit when I'm in need_

_I took a walk_

* * *

><p>There comes an unfortunate time in a man's life when he makes a terrifying realization, both on his own and with help – he isn't young anymore. He's not old, but he's very painfully <em>middle-aged.<em> His muscles just don't work like they used to, and he is much more _tired. _All of the time.

This is the time when the man in question – who happens to go by the name of Charlie Weasley – starts to become lonely. He's always been an independent man, and relationships outside of friendship and familial ones are something he's never done – well, with one night exceptions. Those are a whole other story, however.

He's been satisfied with that, for the last twenty-three years.

Silence becomes daunting, though. There's nothing comforting about returning to a sparse, white home after filing paperwork for a recent dragon transfer to the near-silent hum of the Muggle heater.

Which is why he's expecting it when the dragon reserve suggests a switch – research, maybe, or possibly a tamer job. Something within his physical capabilities.

He notices there's more and more young ones, not forty like he is but instead eighteen, nineteen, twenty. He agrees – he's not daft enough to go against the federal rules – when the reserve says you're off, you're off.

Within a week, he is not an employed middle-aged man doing something he enjoys, but instead a middle-aged man with a room at the Leaky Cauldron and no serious prospects.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy would be rolling in his grave – Draco Malfoy thinks that Muggle ideology and the ideas of the Wizarding World aren't too far apart.<p>

Case in point: mid-life crisis. He's got it all, where that's concerned – ailing heath, divorce papers, a newspaper-worthy scandal, and, of course, a shiny, expensive, brand-new Firebolt.

The papers went through last week. It is obvious that the Prophet would catch the story, and catch it they have – Rita Skeeter spun out a story quicker than one says _gossip._

He reads the paper on the floor in front of him – _Malfoy and wife finalize divorce amidst infidelity rumours_ – and the article below it – _Greengrass' new beau – when and where you can expect the wedding!_

It puts a bit of a damper on his pride, quite honestly. Scowling, he picks up the paper and reads it – not like he hasn't done so already. It's still odd, being alone. Somewhere, something's yelling _free_, but there's so much space he doesn't know what to do with it.

_By: Rita Skeeter_

_This reporter's wondering where all the time has gone – wasn't it just yesterday that this same witch was telling you about the engagement of pureblood heiress Astoria Greengrass and the prominent Draco Malfoy?_

_I also have some insider information, for those readers who are curious. I can say I am! What can make such a seemingly wonderful match fall apart in barely over thirteen years of marriage?_

_My source is saying infidelity. Word is the famed ex-Slytherin caught his wife in bed with another man not once, but twice! Soon after came the vicious custody battle of Scorpius Malfoy, 13._

_Mr. Malfoy clearly isn't opposed to using Slytherin tactics – in a courtroom statement, it was written that he frequently mentioned his now ex-wife's lack of faithfulness and fidelity._

"_It was a show, from the beginning," said the source. "Did they actually get married because of love? That's the question I'm posing to myself."_

Draco throws the paper at the floor, extra sure to leave an imprint of his foot on the half-page picture of his ex-wife on the front cover.

* * *

><p>It's seven o'clock at night, and he knows better.<p>

Of course the noble, valiant,_ hardworking _Percy Weasley wouldn't be home with his daughters, who are off on Easter Break.

He's still at work, they say, barely looking up at him. They don't jump up and hug him like they used to – truthfully, he misses it a bit, but doesn't say anything.

When he gets to the Ministry, he's only reminded of how much he hates this normality, paper-pushing, professional work. _Professional. _Ha.

Percy's name is on a metal plaque on his door, with the title _Head of Law Enforcement _in front of it. Bright light spills underneath the crack of the door.

Charlie knocks.

"Come in." Percy is at his desk, eyeglasses perched precariously on his nose and hand wrapped around a quill, with a disgustingly large pile of paperwork next to him.

"More about cauldron-bottom thickness, Perce?"

"Charles, I am the Head of Law Enforcement. Unfortunately, I have no say in any of those mundane topics anymore."

"_Mundane. _Ouch. Cauldron-bottom thickness enthusiasts everywhere are sobbing."

"Now, really," says Percy, taking his glasses off and folding them. "Not as if I don't like you here, Charlie, I wasn't expecting you to call upon me at this time. Aren't you supposed to be in Romania?"

"About that..." says Charlie.

Another knock sounds at the door, and Percy scowls.

"Must everyone disturb me at this time of night? Come in."

The door almost bangs against the wall and in strodes Draco Malfoy, looking like there's something extremely unpleasant under his nose.

"Weatherby, pleasure as always."

"Mr. Malfoy, what a surprise," Percy says. Charlie takes a step back. "Whatever could I help you with today?"

"I'd like to discuss this without your neanderthal brother hanging over your shoulder, if I may."

"Aw," says Charlie, "I don't bite."

Malfoy simply sneers at him, but they can all tell there is some underlying uneasiness between the three of them.

"I trust Mr. Weasley, and this information shall be confidential."

Malfoy casts a distrusting glance at Charlie, who grins back. It's in his nature to be teasing to the point of being completely and utterly insensitive.

Percy shoots him a warning look. "What would you like to discuss, Mr. Malfoy? Does it have to pertain to your divorce settlement?"

Malfoy sniffs. "Yes, actually, that would be the reason why I'm here." He pauses, sighing loudly with dramatic anguish. "Astoria won't give me my cat back."

Charlie bursts into loud peals of laughter. He's quickly silenced by Malfoy's particularly murderous glare.

Percy looks shocked, and the glasses that had been on the tip of his nose fell onto his desk. He coughs lightly and leafs through a few papers. "Was this in the divorce settlement?"

"No," said Malfoy, sounding miserable, "I'd never thought it a problem, since Fluffy was _my _familiar in the first place. _I _bought her."

"Is this... cat of much importance to you, Mr. Malfoy?" Percy asks, jotting down a note or two. Charlie strains himself not laughing. If looks could kill, Charlie was sure himself and Percy would be six feet under.

* * *

><p>It's a week before Charlie sees Malfoy again, and he's thinking about Fluffy the familiar during his lunch break – as a temporary job, he's working part-time at his brother's shop.<p>

He's not paying attention when he walks into the door of Eeylops, and snaps out of his thoughts when a flash of blonde hair catches his eye.

It takes all he's got not to giggle like a teenage girl. As pristine as a man wearing a Ministry robe in his late-thirties could be, perfect posture included, Malfoy doesn't notice him as he places his order for a bag of cat treats, salmon-flavoured.

Charlie's staring at his shoes, grinning.

Malfoy spins on his heel, billowing his robes as he attempts to walk out of the shop, and in his rush, runs directly into Charlie, bouncing backwards.

"How dare you-"

"It's nice to see you," says Charlie.

"Get out of my way," Malfoy sneers, but there's something off in his voice. He doesn't seem threatening in the least carrying a bag of salmon-flavoured cat treats.

Malfoy shoves past him, and Charlie calls out as Malfoy hightails himself out of the store, "Give Fluffy my regards, Draco!"

* * *

><p><em>Animosity between Weasley war hero and reformed Malfoy?<em>

_By: Parvati Patil_

_Charlie Weasley is probably known, first and foremost, by his wonderful physique, and secondly, the series of aerial attacks he successfully lead during the Battle of Hogwarts. He may seem like a cheerful, friendly fellow, but this reporter's got some insider information from a few special eyewitnesses who were present in Diagon Alley last night._

_Draco Malfoy was spotted at Eeylops during the lunch hour yesterday, the same time the sculpted dragon tamer was there – for what reason, we were unable to determine. But our insider did manage to catch parts of their heated, brief conversation – according to what they heard, Charlie was saying it was quite nice to see Draco, and Draco told him to move out of his way._

_What does this mean? Does it have anything to do with the recent divorce of Draco Malfoy and heiress Astoria Greengrass? Could it possibly mean something else forbidden between the two? This reporter will bring you more as it comes._

* * *

><p>"Oi!" shouts Ron in a strangled sort of tone. "What in the bloody hell is this?" he asks, shaking the paper in Charlie's face.<p>

"Relax," his brother replies. "Malfoy was being his usual self, and I mine. There is nothing going on here, although now that you mention it..."

"_What?_"

"There might have been that one time..."

Ron turned colours – purple, red, and finally, white. "I... can't..."

"I'm kidding, Ron. Really. This is Witch Weekly. What are you doing reading this, anyway?"

* * *

><p>"Fix this."<p>

"Mr. Malfoy, I'd like to remind you I am your divorce attorney, not your public relations manager."

"I don't care. This is an outrage. As if... I'm not..."

"Even if I wanted to, Mr. Malfoy... I can't. You of all people should know the media is protected through the Magical Freedom of Speech Act."

"I don't care."

"The laws apply to you as well, Mr. Malfoy. You aren't an exception. I have no clue as to why you would be visiting me over this matter, either. You are fully aware I am the brother of the other party involved, and I have no wish to get involved in this."

Malfoy huffs and storms out of the office. Percy sighs and puts his head in between his hand, gently rubbing his temples.

* * *

><p>Charlie's closing up the shop the next Tuesday night when a lone figure opens the door, slams it, and looks around to make sure he's not seen before taking off his hood. George is cleaning up the back, and comes to the front with his brother to meet the customer when he hears the door slam.<p>

Neither are expecting it to be Malfoy, and there's an awkward silence.

"Coming for a go in the back room? I'm sure Charlie would be happy to oblige," says George, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious. Charlie smirks.

"Of course not, _Weasley_. I'm here to demand he fix this," snaps Malfoy.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Charlie asks. "Honestly, everyone knows Witch Weekly is rubbish. I can go back to giggling about Fluffy in private, and you can leave and never come back, and Witch Weekly won't have anything to report. Couldn't you have just owled this?"

"Everyone knows owls are always intercepted. Fine, Weasley. Just this once I'll listen to you. But if either of you breathe a word of this to anyone..."

"I'd never," says George, grinning.

"Lips are shut," says Charlie. He's wondering, however, why this is such a big deal to Malfoy. Everyone knows this will blow over, like all Witch Weekly topics do. So why does he care so much?

* * *

><p>Draco is preparing to Apparate to work the next morning when his son stops him in the kitchen.<p>

"Father, you may want to see this." He drops the magazine on the table, and Draco snatches it, flipping through the obnoxiously and scowling as he reads the headline.

_Clandestine affair between Weasley and Malfoy: is that the whole truth?_

* * *

><p>an - I'm leaving this one-shot a little open-ended for now, because there is a possibility I may turn this into a multichapter sometime in the future. Written for the Hunger Games fanfiction competition, using the prompts Percy Weasley, Charlie/Draco, silver tongue, "I... can't", and emotion: fury.


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